Conspiracy
by Hazel Maraa
Summary: “Tom! Hello! Do come in. Right on time, as always!” Albus said happily. Lord Voldemort rolled his evil eyes. No pairings. oneshot


I disclaim.

_For Fluffy Puff Marshmellow,_

_Because her story "Because I Love You, Stupid!" totally inspired me._

_Cheyeah, she's cool._

* * *

Albus Dumbledore had always kept every Sunday in a month free. It was one of those things that Minerva just _couldn't_ forget. No matter how irrelevant, in regard to anything, it may be. But, Minerva mused, so had the Dark Lord. Huh. Maybe it was a "leader of the side you're on" thing. Maybe they were Christian, and had church to go to and celebrate life and whatnot. 

….

Or not.

Minerva couldn't recall a time when she'd seen Albus at noon on a Sunday since…

Minerva felt something dawn on her, and she really wanted to know what it was. She thought back. It'd been a few years after she'd gotten the Transfiguration job. Wait. What had been happening with the Dark Lord at that time? And at that moment, horror hit Minerva like a really, really heavy book being thrown at an ex-fiancé that had cheated on you – the Dark Lord hadn't done anything…Dark Lord-ish (attacks, raids, etc) on a Sunday since Albus stopped seeing people at noon on Sunday.

Now, Minerva smelled conspiracy clearer than she had ever smelled anything before.

And it didn't smell particularly good.

In fact, it smelled pretty damn bad.

_Really_ bad.

No kidding, it smelled so badly, that sulfur, rotten eggs, wet nail polish, wet paint, and permanent markers smell better.

A lot better.

-gags-

* * *

Albus Dumbledore thought that everyone should have a second chance. And a third, and a fourth, and a fifth… But eventually, he actually gives up on them. Publicly, anyway. But not privately. He never really gives up on people. 

However, that was pretty irrelevant to anything, and won't really have anything to do with anything.

But anyway.

Albus looked at his wristwatch impatiently. Where _was _that man! He would probably be late to his own funeral! …Not that there was any proof that he could actually die, but there would be. Oh ho ho, there _would be._ Even if Albus had to plant and find the evidence himself, _there would be._

Ahem.

Albus looked at Fawkes, who was sleeping on his nice little perch/ashtray thing. _What a pretty bird,_ Albus thought serenely. _So red and gold… fitting for a Gryffindor owner, no?_ He chuckled for no apparent reason, and the door banged open. Albus stood up, pleased to see the unidentified – but probably guessed – man.

"Tom! Hello! Do come in. Right on time, as always!" Albus said happily. Lord Voldemort rolled his evil eyes.

"Albus, you say that like you weren't just complaining about how I'd probably be late to my own funeral, then getting aggressive about trying to find proof that I could die, even if you had to plant and find it yourself." Voldemort said, smirking.

"Aw shucks. It's like you were reading my mind a few minutes ago." Albus said disappointedly.

"Not quite. But whenever you say, 'you're right on time, as always!'" Voldemort mimicked in a falsetto, "you usually mean something else." Albus smiled cheerily at him. Honestly, Voldemort was _just_ like Severus! …Except, y'know, not a spy for Albus, bald, red eyes, skeletal, has a snake-like nose, eyebrow-less mutilated soul, was like, 58 years old, and had really long, eerie fingers.

Yeah, _just_ like Severus!

"So, how are you, Albus?" Voldemort said, getting out of his snit.

"Oh, quite fine, thank you Tom. And yourself?"

Voldemort shrugged a bit. "A little down. But I was hoping to fix that with a raid on Hogsmeade next week."

"Oh no, no, no. Next week will simply _not_ do, Tom. How about in a month or two, and weed out the traitors and spies?" Albus suggested.

"Hm." Voldemort thought for a moment. "Good idea. Thank you Albus. If we weren't on different sides, you would _so_ be my second in command."

Albus chuckled. "Oh, of course. How many people were you planning on sending to the raid?" he asked, curious to see if it was simply a 'scare attack', or a 'kill them before they die' attack.

Voldemort paused. "Well, only about twenty or so. Some rookies, probably to get them either experienced, or killed, whichever. But I'll probably be there – I've been really getting bored of doing _nothing_ for such a long time. So make sure you wear your purple battle robes – we simply _must_ duel!" Voldemort said firmly.

"Well," Albus started thoughtfully. "that seems reasonable. I'll make sure to inform the Order so they know. Would you like more tea? And a lemon drop?" Albus asked the Dark Lord hopefully.

Voldemort rolled his eyes again. "Please, ten drops of milk and two cubes of sugar. And, you know I'll have one. But you know, I need to have it soaked in water, and mixed with a diluted blood pop." He said very specifically (just to be annoying).

Albus grinned sheepishly, and opened a drawer in his desk to reveal a glass of water with a lemon drop and a blood pop at the bottom.

"Of course, Tom," Albus said serenely when Voldemort looked at him with a, "Oh no you did not, you crazy fool" look. "We've been doing this since, what, your first rise to power? I couldn't forget your tea and lemon drop slash blood pop preferences even if I'd been _obliviated!_" Albus laughed, and Voldemort joined him.

"Well, you know what they say about old teachers talking to their previous students who plan on ruling the world and making the cookies burnt…_every time_!" They laughed again, but this time it was a particularly evil cackle. Albus stopped abruptly.

"What do they say?"

Voldemort stared at Albus. "What do who say?"

"I don't know – that's why I asked!" He replied, frustrated. Voldemort quirked a 'brow.

"What are you on about, Albus?"

"I'm on about the whole 'you know what they say!' thing." Albus explained vaguely. Voldemort stared at him again.

"It's a just saying. Don't think about it, okay? So, how is young Harry Potter? He's in his… sixth year?"

Albus nodded. "Oh yes. He's learning about your life as a child/teenager/young adult life, to see if there's a connection to try and defeat you." Albus said pleasantly. Voldemort blinked, then nodded sagely.

"Oh, I see. So I should keep making more horcruxes?"

Albus grinned. "Pretty much. But, keep quiet, and, ah, use things that aren't obvious, hmmm? The importance of the other items is great and everything," Albus said gently, "but really, it _is_ very obvious…and practical. Use a fork or something, that would be good." Voldemort looked thoughtful.

"Hm. Not a bad idea. Well, I have to ask. Is the Order ever going to initiate any attacks and/or raids? Because," Voldemort began in a gossipy voice, "the Death Eaters are finding this oddly suspicious. I've told them that they haven't got anything to worry about, but it isn't like I can tell them that I meet up with the opposing side's leader and discuss the latest events and upcoming attacks and whatnot." Voldemort and Albus sharked a chuckle.

"True, true," Albus agreed. "Well, I suppose if it's convenient for you, I could squeeze in a raid on your headquarters in a few weeks." Albus said, flipping through a matching planner – Voldemort had one too – and started jotting a note to himself.

"Hm. Should I tell the Death Eaters that Harry heard you, speaking to the Order and that's how I knew?" Voldemort asked the older wizard. Albus nodded, glancing at his clock.

"Oh my! Minerva will be here any minute! We'll continue this next week, Tom. Nice to see you again!" Voldemort shook his head amusedly.

"Goodbye Albus. See you Sunday." Voldemort took his leave, and walked out the door, and down the escalator thing. Spotting Minerva (who was standing in front of the gargoyle), he greeted her amiably.

"Nice to see you Ms. McGonagall." He called over his shoulder. She gaped at him, before dashing up the stairs and throwing the door open.

"Albus! Was –was – that Vol-de- _Voldemort_!" She demanded… in a question? Yeah. That's what she did.

The old man's eyes twinkled.

"Of course not, Minerva. You must have imagined it. You really should get some sleep." Minerva was still gaping.

_Fin._

_Cheyeah, you know you wanna review. _

_So do it.  
_


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